


Blunt My Teeth

by Tassledown



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Battle of Stalingrad, Gen, Prussia being a violent fuck, WWII, food talk, mention of off-screen rape, not between main characters, violence is not sexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:58:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tassledown/pseuds/Tassledown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prussia fought and lost with his soldiers in Stalingrad, only to be retrieved from the ruins as a prisoner of war by Russia in person. The treatment he gets on the way back to Moscow is surprisingly kind, but he's too caught up in himself to really appreciate it. There's still only one thing on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blunt My Teeth

“I did not expect to find you here.”

Gilbert looked up from the stocks he was tied to and smiled crookedly at him. “Why not? Best fucking front of the war.”

Russia raised an eyebrow back at him, but waved for the soldier to unchain him from the post and push him up to his feet. Gilbert staggered and Russia grabbed his arm to walk him out and back across the camp. Gilbert followed as best he could, but he wavered and fell and finally Russia stopped long enough to drape him over his shoulder. Gilbert cursed and kicked him.

“I'm not a fucking sack!”

“You have the consistency of one right now.” Russia said mildly.

“I have slaughtered thousands, I will not be carried!”

“I can drag you if you prefer.”

“Oh shut up,” Gilbert snapped. He went still, though and let himself be carried. 

Relaxing let his mind wander again and Gilbert only woke up faintly when Russia placed him in the car, then sat next to him while a driver started it up and went deeper into Russia. Gilbert tried to stay coherent, but it was a useless goal. He shivered and if he stayed limp he could stay pressed against Russia. It was the easiest path. 

Russia woke him enough to give him water and some food. Gilbert ate without asking why, then went limp again. When he was conscious again, he was laying across Russia's lap and Russia was firmly telling the driver not to ask about how he chose to treat prisoners of the state. Gilbert turned his face so there was no chance the driver might see his smile.

When Russia picked him up again, Gilbert felt awake enough to look around to see what was happening. This time he was held in Russia's arms out front as the bigger Nation mounted the steps into a train car – now that they were on the part of the railroad that hasn't been partially destroyed by war.

Once they were settled in the car, Gilbert sat up and leaned heavily against Russia's chest to hold himself up as the world spun. His hands were still shackled behind his back.

“Where are we?”

“On the train, da.” Russia looked into his face with a small frown. “What do you need?”

“Don't care.” Gilbert sighed and turned and pressed his lips up against Russia's mouth. The taller Nation froze. Gilbert licked his lips softly and Russia reacted. He pushed Gilbert to the floor hard and then stood up and pressed his foot into his chest.

“I do not want that from you. You will behave.”

“Sheesh, over-reactive much,” Gilbert snarled. He looked away, his heart pounding in his chest. “I guess your generals didn't tell you much about me, did they?”

“I do not care what they get up to on their time. I do not – like men.”

“Lucky for you that's not all I got to offer. I'd take my shirt off but my hands are tied.”

Russia blinked down at him owlishly, then exhaled and pulled him up to sit on the benches again – still not touching him. 

“They did tell me,” Russia said simply. “I am still not interested in men, whether your body matches what would be expected or not. I'm not interested in – that at all right now. Men or women, prisoners or not. Da? Do not offer again.”

Gilbert snorted a little but didn't argue. He didn't believe him, but there wasn't the greatest privacy for that on a train. Once Russia relaxed around him again he'd offer again. 

“How long is the trip?” Gilbert asked. He looked out the window, feeling his energy ebb again. He missed his country already, except he knew even were he there he wouldn't feel like he was home again. Everything was hostile to him still. 

“Many hours. Rest. You will be woken up when we get there.”

Gilbert glanced at him, wanting to pick a fight but he was still tied up and there wasn't room. He'd wait. He closed his eyes and let the exhaustion swamp him once again. 

He was vaguely aware of Russia waking him up and giving him more food – he was too tired to even notice what it was, and it was hardly enough for him to notice. It felt odd – it was the first food he'd had in a month, but he was hardly going to tell Russia that. He thought he was shivering, and then he stopped and realized he was pressed into Russia's chest again. His eyes closed before he thought to object, and he slept again. 

At some point he asked why they were on a train and not a plane and Russia laughed at him and said he was not a fool. Gilbert didn't smile and stayed leaning against him, not even objecting when Russia rested papers on his shoulder or back. The shackles stayed on his hands. 

Warm food was delivered to them in the car and Gilbert's stomach grumbled loudly at the smell even as it cramped at the thought of trying to eat that much food after so long. Russia picked up a tiny bowl of a soupy broth and offered it to him. Gilbert didn't argue that it was undignified to let him feed him; the food he was eating was already bad enough. He tilted his head back and swallowed it before turning to stare out the window again and ignore the sounds and smells of Russia eating the rest of the food offered. 

“It has been a long time since you've been to Russia, da?”

“It has,” Gilbert said. “How are your sisters?”

“They are still alive.”

Gilbert nodded without speaking and didn't ask more. He knew what they were going through. 

“Does it bother you, that you lost?”

Gilbert smiled thinly and didn't answer. Russia didn't ask again. Gilbert sat with his back to the outer wall of the train and waited again.

He must've fallen asleep again. He forgot how time passed during the blank stretches not fighting for his life sometimes, or actively pretending. His body ached that the Nation he was subject to was stretched thin and that he wasn't there and that it didn't want him anymore, and his body wasn't healing like it should. The pulsing strength the Third Reich had peaked at was dying, and him with it.

Russia picked him up, then put his feet on the ground and Gilbert was able to walk out of the train on his own power, on ground not churned by war, and out to a car. He looked around Moscow and realized he was surprised not to see the black, red, and white flags of the Third Reich. 

The car, surprisingly, was driven by Lithuania. 

“Greedy bastard aren't you?” Gilbert said, but he was actually relieved to see him there, of sorts. “Do you still have Polen too?”

“Nyet,” Russia said, and left it at that. Gilbert didn't ask, simply looking around as Liet drove them through the city and then out of it to a semi-rural area. Gilbert stayed awake the whole way, considering it important to know how to get back to the train station from Russia's house. 

The place they wound up at left Gilbert somewhat speechless. 

“Where did you get this?”

“It was a gift, from my government.” Russia got out and came around to open his door for him as well and help him stand up. “It was empty, so they gave it to me.”

Gilbert nodded, because that explained all of it. The house was a mansion larger than England's, a sprawling home with a multitude of small panelled windows. It must've belonged to a noble before the revolution. “I guess it's not out of proportion to give something this nice to your Nation, huh?” 

Russia pulled him forward and Gilbert stumbled and caught up with him, walking into the house and relaxing slowly as he realized the house was nicely warm. Russia pulled him into the kitchen and Liet followed behind them with a worried look. 

“He needs to eat again. Make something with broth and a little grain – whatever we have a lot of. He has been starving,” Russia said simply. He stepped around to unshackle Gilbert's hands and put the cuffs on the table. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

“What makes you think that?” Gilbert rubbed his wrists and dropped into a chair, knowing his legs were shaking with fatigue still. It was nice being in the kitchen, though – warm. Friendly.

Nice open space in the middle for a fight.

“You have been happy to see me. You are not happy with wars like this.”

“Like what?” Gilbert asked. He cracked his knuckles and smiled cockily back at Russia. 

“Hopeless wars.”

Gilbert laughed. “What, you think I should go help them on the Western Front? Should I go fight somewhere I'll be useful to my government? Eh, Liet? You think they deserve that?”

Liet tucked himself closer to the stove, spilling some of the grains he was trying to measure. Gilbert stood up and paced out into the open space in the kitchen. Russia turned to face him, his expression pleasant and empty.

“So you came to Stalingrad to do what?”

“I was bored,” Gilbert said. “I needed something to blunt my teeth on. Stalingrad was a nice choice, like trying to tear my way through a stampede, monsters with thick skin you can't tear. I can only rip my way through enough of my own soldiers before I die.”

“Da, I understand.” Russia smiled and shrugged out of his coat. He stepped out to meet him in the space. “So you came to my lands, to kill my men instead?”

“I didn't want to win; I just wanted something to kill.” 

Russia threw the first punch, hitting him in the face hard enough to throw Gilbert off his feet. He scrambled back up and tackled Russia in the stomach, punching his side until Russia dragged him back by his hair and threw him to the table. Gilbert twisted and narrowly missed getting punched in the stomach. He dug his nails into Russia's wrist and forced him to let go, then twisted away and kicked him in the back of the knee. Russia fell and Gilbert punched him as hard as he could in the back of the head.

Russia didn't even flinch. He grabbed Gilbert's arm and broke it, dragging him into his chest to cup his face hard in one hand. Gilbert thought his jaw would break, but Russia didn't squeeze more.

“You think you're funny, playing war like that, but I am not amused.”

Gilbert slammed his heel into Russia's foot and jerked out of his grip. He pulled his broken arm as close as he could to his body and punched Russia in the stomach again, half-screaming. Russia seized his hair and turned, slamming his face into the table. 

Gilbert choked on blood and dropped to his hands and knees, gagging and spitting on the floor, trying to breathe through his broken nose. Russia kicked him in the chest, threw his back into the table leg, then kicked him again. Gilbert blacked out, startled awake and blacked out again with each kick.

Cold water slapped him in the face. Liet shouted “ _Enough_ , both of you! _Cut it out!_ I'm trying to cook, Ivan, you told me to! Now leave him alone so he can eat! You can beat on him later, outside my kitchen, or I won't cook for you! Is that clear?”

Gilbert heard the footsteps leave the room and then the door shut. Liet grabbed his arm and hauled him up enough to sit at the table. He left to get materials and came back to briskly set his arm. Gilbert yelped, but didn't fight, going along with the help limply until Liet laid his arm out on the table and glared at him.

“You can do your own nose. Lemme get you a cloth and a bowl to wash up. Idiot.”

“Heh,” Gilbert smiled, but Liet had already wandered away. He watched him go and swallowed again, not wanting to bleed more in Liet's kitchen, but when he came back he saw Liet had brought him an empty bowl as well as one full of water. He spat blood into it and set about cleaning his face in silence.

Several minutes later, Liet took the pink water away and replaced it with a small bowl of porridge. “Do you feel better, now that you had your fight with him?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Good. Don't do it around me again. I cook here. I will refuse to cook you anything else even after you're better if you don't.”

Gilbert laughed and grinned back at him. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those wondering about some of the more vague references in the story:  
> -I generally write trans Prussia, but since it's just a mention I didn't tag it, but that's what the exchange with the kissing was referring to.  
> -I write Prussia as intensely opposed to the Nazis due to them dissolving his free state, being a social democrat, a Catholic, and an albino. Hence the intensely frustrated violence towards pointless ends so he doesn't benefit them.


End file.
